Not Another One
by Elanthra
Summary: Could Sheppard ever make mistakes? A "Defiant One" Tag. Written in answer to a prompt on the GW Whumpers thread.


Not Another One...

Not that 'The Defiant One' ever needed a tag... such an excellent ep... but the prompt turned up one day... and this came out of nowhere as a result... and was too long to post on GW... and has been just sitting around awhile... so I thought I'd share. Written just for fun... with nothing profound or earth-shatteringly revealing about the character of Shep... simply a bit of an action Whump-romp in the sand... as if Shep's action Whump-romp in the sand needed prolonging...

* * *

Naturally, Rodney worked out how to disarm the shield so they could access the Jumper damn quick. Sheppard always had to admit it, to himself, never to the scientist... he didn't want it ever going to Rodney's head... no... he always had to admit that Rodney was kinda handy to have around for all the tech stuff... and... apparently... and he had to concede this one too... the scientist was capable of some pretty nifty shooting when it came to firing a 90mm and actually hitting the target. Repeatedly. Sheppard had been down on the ground at the time... if Rodney had missed...

Teyla was good too, cleaning and tidying up the wound on his arm with a fresh dressing, while Ford took off in Jumper Two with Marco and Durham to retrieve the bodies of Gaul and Abrams. Sheppard counted his blessings to still be alive but half of the members of a mission were dead and even two was too high a body count.

Teyla had made him sit on the ramp of Jumper One whilst attending to him, forcing the both of them to listen to Rodney's complaints about just how messed up the craft was. Half of it Sheppard couldn't understand... and the other half had something to do with the crystals and lateral inversion...

"What is that?" asked Teyla, trying her hardest to appear interested, tying off the knot of the bandage.

"He means... back to front," explained Sheppard.

"Oh..." meaning, why did he not just say so?

"Rodney!" And yeah... Sheppard was getting irritable, impatient now to just get the crap out of there. "Just tell us, will you?! Simple words. Just tell us straight, Rodney, how long is it gonna be before you can fix this thing?"

"An hour. Tops." And there was something of a brag in there somewhere.

"There you go! That wasn't so bad, was it?" And an hour wasn't so bad to wait either. And it looked like nightfall wouldn't be for awhile yet. No. He could cope with another hour. Even if it meant that shower he was longing for was on hold a while longer. Even if his arm, ribs and skull now throbbed like hell. He'd refused painkillers. He'd need a clear head when it came to his shift to pilot Rodney's 'baby' home.

And now he'd stopped running all over this damn desert, that was another thing he had to concede to... fatigue... he was that tired. Rodney could 'drive' and give Sheppard a chance to rest up but fifteen hours would be too long for a novice to get the Jumper home alone. Too long to be on auto-pilot. At some point, Sheppard would have to take over the controls.

He looked up as Jumper Two circled in to re-land sending off clouds of dust their way. He coughed, and winced as fresh sharp pain cut across the ribs at his side... not mindful of that, however, thinking only of the Jumper's grim cargo. He threw back his head taking a swig from the bottled water Teyla offered him and watched the three marines disembark. None of them would want to remain in the Jumper for longer than necessary. Nothing was said. Even Rodney kept his opinions to nothing more than a nod and a glance as the three approached.

_Deserts and death._

Past images of sand dunes. And they had flicked through Sheppard's mind earlier as he had fought the Superwraith... Pictures of the Afghan desert... choppers... his Pave Hawk... Mitch and Dex... Holland... fallen comrades...

The marines sat themselves down where they could and shared out power bars and water. It'd already been decided that they wouldn't leave until Jumper One was up and running.

After about ten minutes, Teyla who'd sat beside him, whispered in his ear... "you are ok now, Major?"

"Why? You figuring on going somewhere?" he asked back automatically, without thinking... "Oh..." meaning... _oh..._

She had stood already and had entered the Jumper, had reached into the cubby hole concealed under one of the back seats and had came back out again, discreetly holding a pack of tissues. She slid down to his side once more and again whispered confidentially into his ear. "I find that the... bathroom facilities of the Jumpers are none too... welcoming and would prefer, perhaps, to use the privacy of... that sand dune over there... if... you are ok... that is..." Heck, that was more information than he needed to know and he just knew he'd gone through a whole spectrum of pink to red...

"No... you go... and do... whatever it is... you do... we're fine..." he stuttered out, and then stupidly yelled after her as she took off across the sand. "Stay in radio contact! Don't go too far! And... don't be too long!" He was digging himself in deeper and sounded like her father... but hey... he was only concerned for her safety. He removed his shades and killed Ford's snicker with a daggered look.

He glanced up and put away the shades. The sun, lower in the sky now was losing it's power and a breeze that lifted up odd eddies of sand, added a keenness to the air, hinting of the cold night to follow. The oppressive heat that had reflected off the ground earlier had gone. It'd be good to get some shut-eye in, while he had the chance. He gingerly eased himself down to lay back on the ramp, pulling over his discarded tac vest for a pillow... Teyla had insisted on checking out his damaged ribs... nestling in... scratching at his itchy scalp, his hair thick with sand... doubtful though he was ever going to sleep with all the rattling and muttering Rodney was making further back in the Jumper...

He must have dosed for only a minute...

Teyla.

Shouting.

Somewhere.

He jerked awake suddenly, jarring his ribs, letting out a 'ow!' as Teyla hollered into his earpiece.

"Major! Major! Wraith!"

He didn't need her intel.

The Dart screeched low over the site.

Marco had reacted soon enough and had had Jumper Two cloaked with a flick of his device. And the marines had madly scrambled to their feet, heads down, belting straight for the cover of the closer Jumper One, and the 'crack crack' of their P90s fired from the hatch meant the noise got real horrendous by a factor of ten. Ford helped Sheppard upright, both yelling at Rodney to get Jumper One cloaked too. They were taking too many damn direct hits.

"Rodney!"

"I can't! I can't! Nothing's... functional!" Rodney's eyes round with the alarm they all felt. And Sheppard figured that meant the drones couldn't be fired either.

The Dart swept out of view, probably gearing to come in for a second run. Hopefully not because it had just spotted Teyla... somewhere out there... alone...

And it screamed back suddenly... explosions above and all around, juddering the Jumper, nearly flooring them... sparks flying ominously out the crystal box Rodney had just been working on... that set Rodney off squawking in the back, adding to all the commotion.

Ford and Sheppard joined in with the fire power at the top of the ramp. "Where the hell did they come from?" bawled out the lieutenant.

"A cruiser? Heard the SOS. Same as us?" screamed back Rodney, hands over his ears from the repeated rifle fire in the confined space.

"And you didn't _think_ to _switch_ it off?!" Sheppard's disbelief back at him.

"Hey! You didn't _say_ either!" And yeah... perhaps Sheppard should have made that call... He'd made... an error? "And I was looking after Gaul remember! And besides, they might have heard it days ago! Last week! Last _year_ even! It's been on for ten thousand years, for heaven's sake!"

"So why now? Why come now?" Sheppard demanded of no one in particular, screwing up his face, letting off more rounds that jolted the wound on his arm.

"I. Don't. Know. I'm a scientist! Not a philosopher!"

What...? And Sheppard puzzled over that a second... Fate. Destiny... _Freaking bad luck..._

But this was no time for recriminations. That Dart had to be taken out... before it did any more damage... before it called it's pals... if it hadn't done so already... but... nothing they had was hitting it. They just weren't getting in any lucky shots.

The Dart disappeared over the horizon again. A breathing space. But he'd decided then. No time to lose.

"Your device, Corporal! Quick! Cover me!" A nod to Ford and he was sprinting across the distance to Jumper Two. Forty yards at most, but driving a tired body with cracked ribs felt like a lot longer haul. It would have made sense to let Marco go. But common sense didn't always come into these things.

He skidded to a halt sending up puffs of sand... hearing the increasing pitch of the approaching Dart. Uncloaked and in and cloaked again before the Dart had spotted the Jumper... he hoped. A second to take in the two body bags on the floor. The pilot's seat reached. Another ten seconds. He was doing well. Powered up. Thinking drones. Sensing the dark shadow of the Dart directly above... the crescendo of its engines ear piercing as he aimed with his thought. A flash of green blue. A fog of dust that obscured the windscreen... and no... he hadn't ever questionned whether it was even possible to shoot these things from the ground. Hadn't thought about the consequences of falling debris from firing at such close range either... Had he just gone crashing headlong into another mistake?

Instinct kicked in and he ducked low into the dash space. A sharp tug at his side. And the throb at his arm. Deafened now by the detonation. Could feel the wave of heat tunnelling down the Jumper through the open hatch. Bangs. Thuds. As wreckage hit the roof. And then, muffled cheers coming through the ringing in his ears that told him it was safe now to raise his head...

...and he exhaled long and slow and wondered how long exactly he'd been holding his breath... and ouch... that hurt to twist himself out of the cramped space... He couldn't see a thing out of a windscreen covered in sand and soot, except for strange halos of falling flame. He limped his way back down the Jumper, holding his side. He really had got to stop punishing those cracked ribs...

He again skirted carefully around the bodies of Adams and Gaul and was out of the Jumper, surveying the remnants of the burning, smoking Dart.

"And are you aware, Major, just how dangerous that little trick could have been?!" yelled out Rodney, reprimanding from Jumper One. Hey, they and the Jumpers were all in one piece, weren't they?

He was about to grin back a reply... rules are meant to be broken... when Teyla came over his earpiece and Rodney halted the start of his good long wordy lecture.

"Major Sheppard? Are you ok?" Breathless? Like she was running?

"Yeah, Teyla. You coming home? We're in with a strong chance of another visit." As much as he hated the idea, they were probably going to have to abandon Jumper One, and skedaddle out of there.

"I... am pleased... that you... are safe..." Definitely running, but where was she? And he turned a full 360 degrees, searching the sand dunes and the empty desert for any sign of movement. Ford and the two marines were at his side now. He wasn't exactly hiding it that something was wrong...

"However... I find that... I am not so... fortunate... I have... two Wraith... giving chase... and... also... I am now... without... ammunition..."

_Two_ Wraith. _Superwraith?_ Rodney had said he'd thought he'd heard something on the ship...

He figured that they hadn't heard her firing off her guns due to all the din overhead. He'd made another mistake. He should never have let her go. If he kept on like this he was going to get them all killed. He knew he was injured, but not that much. He'd got to keep his head clearer than this. Otherwise... hell... how many more mistakes was he going to make?

_'Stand down, Major... that's an order... intel says, it's not safe... and how many hours have you been flying... truthfully?'_

Holland... Sheppard's crashed Hawk... perhaps not downed simply by the chance hit he'd always made out... truthfully...

"Where are you, Teyla?"

"Beyond... the north dune... but... moving away from... the Jumpers... they have... cut off... escape..."

"Hang in there, Teyla! I'm sending you a drone." And to Ford. "We have Wraith on the ground! On Teyla's tail!"

And he was heading into Jumper Two a second time.

"Where'd they come from?" called out a stunned Ford, following but hesitating at the hatch, casting his eyes downwards...

"I dunno... managed to beam out of the Dart just in time?" He hoped... He hoped they might be that lucky... that these might be the regular guys... and since when was that lucky?

And Sheppard was back in the pilot's seat, firing up the HUD.

"And why are they after Teyla?"

"A quick snack?" and Sheppard pulled a face... because... that was never ever a joke...

The screen showed three life signs at twelve o'clock out in the desert but enough distance between Teyla in front and her pursuers. He quickly linked up to the target and thought drone launch...

...a clicking noise... and the floor of the Jumper shuddered... and then...

...nothing...

"Rodney!" Back on the radio.

"It's sand... it's sand, Major! Sand in the firing mechanism! You stirred too much of the stuff up when you fired the first drone!" Crap... his mistake again... now they were without anything useful if another Dart turned up...

"Ford, Marco, Durham! In here! All the ammo and ordnance you can carry!" They were going to have to do this the hard way. On foot. And valuable minutes had been lost going to Teyla's aid.

"Teyla." On the radio again.

"Major."

"Plan B. No drones. Just us."

"Yes, Major... but... quickly..." She was holding up... only the faintest of hints of panic in her voice.

He made his way to the back, hating all the activity around the scientists' bodies as the marines loaded up. They all did. Eyes averted... and perhaps... these two would still be alive now, if he and Rodney hadn't separated from them... He'd got to stop this doubting... he'd got to put it all behind... he'd make more mistakes if he didn't...

He scooped up a spare vest from supplies, scrunching up his face as he shuffled into it... because... heck, it was hurting now to get stuff done... grateful that Ford helped out and hitched it on further for him...

They cleared the Jumper of all usuable firepower and were out of there, Sheppard detouring as the others jogged off, laden like Mexican bandits, towards the dune. He handed Rodney a P90. He knew Rodney had had little practice at using it, but hopefully he wouldn't need to... and as he let the rifle go... the thought... was he right to leave Rodney alone?... Teyla... had to think of Teyla... Teyla was the priority now... there was no danger for Rodney...

"No pressure, Rodney, but I want Jumper One up and running when we get back!" And then, shouting over his shoulder as he ran off. "We don't want to leave anything behind for these guys if more decide to turn up!"

Teyla. Teyla was the priority... there was no danger for Rodney... He had to keep telling himself that... that he'd gotten this right...

He was yards behind the others now and not catching up any time soon. His body working as in slow motion, crawling up the northern sand dune on all fours, feeling the drag on tired legs as he ascended, that sent an ache to his calves and thighs right through to the pain barrier. His head still thumped. He couldn't have taken on enough water or something... perhaps he should have left this to the marines... perhaps he should have stayed behind with Rodney... he might even be slowing these guys down...

He was last to the summit, breathless, grunting as he dropped forward, throwing himself onto his stomach beside the other three. Ford cast him an inquiring look but said nothing as he passed Sheppard the field glasses he'd been using.

"There." And Ford pointed to ten o'clock.

Shadows long from the occasional scrub and rock as the dusk crept over the desert scape. Spurts of dust three quarters of a mile away marked Teyla running, fifty yards or so ahead of the Wraith... they carried stunners... ordinary Wraith then... and she was just out of range of those stunners... her small frame giving her the edge and agility over the more lumbering Wraith... but no way was she ever going to keep this up for long... he could see what she was attempting to do though... tracing an arc through the sand and heading back to the Jumper... but it was hard work, weaving, in case she ever came within stunner range and dodging obstacles along the way... perhaps he should turn back... and use Jumper Two to simply ram them... no time... no time... damn... why hadn't he thought of it sooner?... he just wasn't thinking straight... and it'd need his precision flying... but he just wasn't up to it... truthfully...

"Teyla!" And he tapped his earpiece. "We see you! We'll come in on two sides... outflank them... try and come in closer... out."

"Anything... but please... hurry!"

"Ford with Marco. Take east. Durham with me." And they nodded and were off, sliding down the other side of the dune.

There wasn't ever going to be any element of surprise with the sand and dust they were moving as they careered down the slope. The scrub offered next to no cover. Hell, the two Wraith could have seen them coming from _ten_ miles away. It had to be a sprint. Move in fast and just hit them with everything they had. And sprinting wasn't want his body wanted right now. Especially not weighed down with all the extra ammo and grenades. And the ground wasn't kind either. Too much give in the sand for traction. Rocks and bushes to round or leap over. Rocks that flicked up and hit the lower leg... bushes that snared and scratched at ankles... he stumbled... once… twice... a face full of prickly branches... he yelled at Durham to take the lead... not to wait for him... he was tiring fast... his throat dry... short breaths... a hand at his side again... his ribs cutting at him again...

"Major!" Teyla. And her voice more urgent than ever. "There is a third Wraith! I sense a third Wraith!"

How?...

"Where?!"

"I... I... do not... know."

Swiping his eyes clear of the perspiration... peering ahead. Scanning. Durham now fifty yards or so in front. But no sign of the third Wraith. He continued to run, but paces slow and heavy and plodding. Gasping for air, as much as Teyla and he'd only been going five minutes. He wrestled single handedly with his vest to extract the LSD detector. A blur to his eyes. He stopped. Wiping his wrist across his face again.

The tiny screen... six life signs in front... his own at the centre...

And behind. To the south...

Two more...

The third Wraith and Rodney...

He'd gotten it so wrong again... He spun round... running faster than ever... he just didn't care... he just didn't care what was hurting... he'd gotten it so wrong again...

"Ford! Rodney's... going to... have company! More Wraith. I'm... heading back... I'm closest..." He wasn't going to be able to make the distance to help Teyla but... he could get back to Rodney.

"Sir-?" But Sheppard had called off. He needed to warn McKay.

"Rodney!"

No reply.

There was no immediate danger. Rodney still had minutes to spare to get the hell out of there. The third Wraith was coming in from the east to the Jumper site... From the ship?... This one was gonna be another goddamned Superwraith, after all?

"Rodney. Come in!"

Again, no reply...

"Rodney!" The radio was out? No static... He'd just have to hope he'd get there in time... if at all...

The sand dune loomed up dark before him and he steeled himself for the rush to the top... he could do this... but quickly lost momentum... he just couldn't force any energy back into those legs... lungs splitting... head thumping loud to the rhythm of his heart... again on all fours... gaining ground... then slipping back... took a tumble... _holding Holland and they both fell.._. groaning... sand, grit in his face, his eyes and mouth... dazed.... disorientated... got to get up... got to get up... and that was the tempo he could climb to... got to... got to... got to... and he made the top, wriggling forward on his belly, P90 held in one hand, the LSD in the other, mouth set hard against the pain in his side, against the chafing on his wounded arm...

The site lay still and quiet. He'd come up the dune due west of the Jumper. And seventy yards away. Another mistake. He'd meant to head east to cut the Wraith off. He was soon enough though. He checked the LSD. The Wraith hadn't yet made it to the far side eastern dune? He was being that slow? It didn't feel like another Superwraith somehow.... injured? And... healing? Another one from the Dart? And had been... unconscious?... And couldn't be detected? If it worked for hybernating, why not being knocked out? He toyed with the idea still of heading the Wraith off, no... in his condition best to just stick close to the Jumper.

He tapped his earpiece again, keeping his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Rodney!" This time static but still no reply.

Time to move on down. He'd had his breather...

This part of the dune was higher but with a shallower slope. More stony and rocky than sandy, home to rougher vegetation. He shuffled round to go feet first, hating still the feel of his ribs, realising for the first time just how tight a grip he had on both his rifle and the LSD. Tension? Pain? Yeah, well, either would be forgivable.

He slid down on his backside a few yards and then trusted his legs, still weak and shaky, to support him, picking his way across the face of the decline. The surface wasn't as solid as it'd looked... a lot of loose stuff... his movements clumsy and laboured and slow and flatfooted... he just wasn't used to this... to his body not responding to the will to urge it forward... he stumbled again and grabbed for some bush for balance, dropping the LSD sending it banging against rocks, hissing as sharp thorns drove themselves into the palm of his hand... damn... damn... sucking out splinters. Rodney ought to have heard all the racket he was making... hell, the approaching _Wraith_ should have heard that... He froze, listening... silence... then distant gunfire as Ford started his attack... You'd think that Rodney would have come to the hatch for that reason alone. He guessed he really _had_ scared the scientist into getting the job of fixing the Jumper done.

He stooped stiffly to recover the LSD, carrying on his descent. Faster now. The slope causing him to pick up speed... taking his feet away from him... too fast... hey... too fast... too fast... too damn fast... a rock jutting out... pitching him forward... arms flailing... body hammered into the ground... stabbing his bad arm... he cried out... knew he did... in a world gone crazy... thrown like some rag doll... crashing... too fast... too fast... smashing into scrub... boulders... too fast... mind registering only the crazy upturned world... balling down the slope... too fast... trying to grab a hold... anything... and hitting everything... hit by everything... air shocked out of him... too fast... too fast... needing to cover his head... thrashed by bushes... too fast... his leg striking something solid... a sear of pain to his ankle... fast... too fast... dirt in his face... dirt in his eyes.... dirt in his mouth... too fast... too fast... slammed hard against another rock... cried out again... slithering... sliding...

...and suddenly - spat out onto level ground...

...still...

...quiet...

…a world black and pounding loud with the beat of his heart...

_...where?..._

...breath, rasping and wheezing, that snuffled at the dust at his nostrils... choking... and he jerked his head up, coughing... coughing at lungs that were killing him from the inside out... exhausted... and collapsed again... head like log splitters were at it... sand abrasive against smarting cut skin on his face... and his rifle pressing hard against his throat... he tried hitching forwards... and moaned... his arm... his left ankle pulsing and not working... he tried opening eyes that stung... but nothing would focus...

_...Rodney... crap... Rodney..._

...try harder... and lifted his head again... his left outstretched arm covered in blood and dirt... not his old wound... well, some... a fresh gash oozing below the elbow...

_...Rodney... where?..._

...a world with shapes... that swirled... that sickened... then, with effort, steadied... Jumper One... what?... thirty yards away... and movement... fifty yards beyond that... black with silver hair... not Rodney... so not Rodney... but slow... and limping... _glad, I'm not the only one_... he squinted hard... no stunner... sure of that... but still... the Wraith would need to feed... and to get this close already?... Sheppard figured he must have been out cold awhile... and he listened... still sporadic gunfire over the dune... damn...

He pulled up the weight of his right arm and reached across to his earpiece... _this can't work..._ a miracle that he even had it still... swallowing hard in some vain attempt to moisten his parched throat... "R-rodney... Wraith... one... one o'clock..." His words weak and stammering.

Nothing.

Sheppard rolled over to his right side, pulling free his rifle with his dud arm, hissing, curbing the cry that might give him away, sure that the Wraith hadn't spotted him down on the ground.

"_Rodney... Wraith... one o'clock_," he repeated, low and urgent.

Static. Then, silence again.

Perspiration blinding him... trying to clear his vision... couldn't get a shot in now anyhow... the Wraith out of sight behind the Jumper... _Jeez... Rodney? Why aren't you firing?_

And Sheppard, his groan guttural into his throat, containing that pain somehow, prised himself off the desert floor onto all fours. Instantly locking his shoulders to hold that position, head hanging low into the dizzying white that threatened, gasping at the agony shooting through his arm... and when he'd gotten his vision straight, spittle and sweat and blood spotting the sand beneath him... and the mist and the need to vomit came right back at him. Fear then, that he was going to keel right over... fear that his body was going to fail him utterly... and the tempo began again in his head... got to... got to... got to...

Movement to his right. And John screwed up his face to make sense of the haze... Rodney had emerged from... Jumper Two... not Jumper One... had frozen to the spot... midway between jumpers... hands full of tools and spares... and no... P90... realization dawning... "Oh my God!"... and Rodney dropped everything. Reached for his handgun. Fired until it emptied... and... no more clips...

The Jumper still obscured the Wraith from Sheppard... he heard the angry roar... Rodney had missed this time? Sheppard had got to move before he could get the Wraith in his sights... and fast... like how?... but he had to...

...this was all his fault...

"What do I do?! What do I do?!" Screeched Rodney, who'd now seen Sheppard. He stirred himself suddenly into turning and fleeing back to Jumper Two. Stirred probably by the sight of the Wraith hobbling after him.

But Jumper Two... now empty of weapons and ammo...

Sheppard crawled, hating the way he couldn't master the pain, shuffling through the sand, pulling himself forward with his good arm, his injured arm crooked around his rifle, dragging his useless foot behind him... effort... whole body trembling with the effort... hard breaths grating on his left lung... desperately running out of time... got to buy time... got to...

"Rodney! Spanner! Power bar!" he managed out, praying that Rodney would understand...

"Oh yeah, Major! Death by nutritional snack and handy tool, you think!" came Rodney's sarcastic screaming.

"Fix-"

"-Am doing! Am doing!" And Rodney came out of Jumper, flung back his arm and gave the spanner his best baseball throw. Sheppard still struggling on, nearly at Jumper One now, heard it clunk in the sand... heard almost instantly the whining of the firebugs and heard the Wraith grunting to fight them off.

Got to... got to... and he scrambled across the ramp and fired off the P90. Giving it everything. The percussion from the rifle abusing his arm and his ribs even more.

And the Wraith fell to the ground.

And the rifle slipped from Sheppard's hands and he sunk into the silence...

"You'll be ok... you'll be ok... as soon as... um... hmm... Teyla and Ford get here... they can... um... do all that IV thing... you fainted there for a bit... but you'll be ok..." Rodney's voice in the woozy fog that passed for thought.

"Rodney..." groaned Sheppard, not really having a clue why he said the guy's name... to apologise? Half-conscious and it was still bugging him that he'd messed up?

"You'll be ok..." Rodney assuring himself as well as Sheppard.

Sheppard blearily pushed open his eyes, swallowing, fighting nausea. He shivered, tremors shaking his body with the hurt from... hell... all over. He was on his side. Still on the ramp. A blanket thrown over. And aware of a dressing pad on his arm. That still leached blood. Remembering now that he daren't move his busted ankle. No... he'd lay here... real still... real still... no need to move now... too weak to move now...

He panicked suddenly, "Teyla?"

"She's ok. I thought I'd said? All the Wraith dead now. If you're into notches on the dash... well, there's four to mark up today."

"Only..." and Sheppard closed his eyes tight shut again. He shouldn't be talking. He knew that. "Two are mine." Two for two. Not such a bad deal...

"Ah well, you can still count. That's always a good sign... so... you'll be ok... only you mustn't go to sleep... in case, you're concussed... "

"I... won't..." But he wanted to... he so wanted to...

"Only... only... you looked concussed... no... more than concussed... I thought... you were dead... you looked dead, you know..."

That bad, huh?

And he opened his eyes again. "Like... you say... I'm ok... but I messed up Rodney... I made mistakes.." And it was stupid. He could hardly breathe. It was stupid to try and say this stuff. Last words, John? Yeah... he felt that bad, yeah...

"Mistakes? No, I can't see that... unless you count getting yourself all bashed up."

"I could have gotten us all killed... you especially..." _Gaul... Abrams... my fault..._

"But you didn't, Major... We're all ok... You're only human... You couldn't possibly have known they'd be more Wraith." And Sheppard would have to let that do, but he knew they'd always be bad memories... the same as with Holland... And every time he saw the desert, he'd feel he'd failed...

"We have to get off the planet, Rodney," he urged, shifting, regretting it, gritting his teeth against the movement, but these things were still important. He was still responsible for getting them all home safely.

"Yeah, nearly finished. Another five minutes and I'll have our baby all fixed."

"You've... you've been busy... Is that... is that why you didn't answer the radio... I kept calling..."

"No. Must have been static." And Rodney was unscrewing a water bottle for Sheppard to drink from. And Sheppard thought... that Rodney had flushed red and seemed flustered.

And Sheppard guessed, lifting his head. "You were using the-"

"-Yes," squeaked Rodney miserably, "since... since it's confession time here... I was using the closet. I admit it!"

And Sheppard wearily laid back his head again, staring at the darkening sky. "It's ok, Rodney... no problems... you're only human..."

End


End file.
